A Gaurdian Angel
by Lynnryo
Summary: Roy is suffering a bout of depression after his best friend dies. Dark-ish. I was bored.


A/N: Gah, I'm horrible.

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist or their characters _or_ Amestris. Don't sue me, please?

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The day was dreary and drizzly and horrible. All the moisture in the air meant that it would be near impossible to create sparks, and without his flame, the Flame Colonel was nothing but a bother. He had hardly any kind of combat training (so he thought) and was useless on these kinds of days. And the one person who could ever cheer him up enough not to drink himself into a stupor was dead.

It was hardly even ten o'clock in the morning, and Roy was on one of the rare days off he had. He sat in his dorm room, surrounded by empty and discarded bottles of various liquor. He was piss drunk.

And depressed.

The Flame Colonel sat deep in the uncomfortable recliner he kept across from the window. He had it turned so he could watch the rain fall in fat droplets onto the heads of the human traffic. He wasn't, however, actually paying _attention_ to the people. He was thinking - and along a very dangerous line of thought.

"I wonder .. 'f he thinks 'bout me up there?" Mused the Colonel aloud. A strange grin touched his lips but it disappeared quickly as a small flash of lightning crossed the sky, followed by a dim peal of thunder somewhere in the distance. Roy chuckled dryly. "'Course he don't. He's _dead,_" he muttered under his breath, "Fuckin' dead ..."

Roy took another swig of scotch, savoring the sting in his throat and the warmth of the alcohol in his belly. He pet the arm of the recliner and sighed. "I 'member ... When he said ... Said this chair was his favorite ..." Mustang's speech was heavily slurred and frequently punctured with more sips from the bottle that dangled from his hand like a gross mutation.

The Colonel looked up at the cracked ceiling abruptly, thinking _But if I joined you, would you welcome me or kick my ass for following you instead of my dream, uh?_

Roy smiled and uttered a soft chuckle, which quickly changed into full-blown laughter, then into hysterics. He fell out of the recliner, clutching his stomach as he roared, unable to help himself. Even before the laughter could die down, the Colonel emptied the entire contents of stomach onto the rug.

He crawled on hands and knees to the closest sink and continued to throw up. When his vomit was mostly clear with the occasional streak of pink blood, the Colonel was able to stop puking.

_Maybe joining you would be best, buddy ..._ thought the Colonel as he collapsed to the floor in a heap, barely avoiding the corner of the counter, but giving himself a concussion on the tiled kitchen floor. He stared up at the ceiling in mild confusion as pain shot through his skull, blood seeping out around him in a crimson pool, soaking and staining his raven-coloured locks of hair.

A smile touched his lips once more as his eyes drifted shut. Roy lay there for, what seemed to him, an eternity. He drifted in and out of consciousness as the blood dried in his hair, and once he thought that he'd heard Maes Hughes talking to him, scolding him.

_"What are you _doing,_ Roy," _screamed Maes Hughes' ghostly voice_. "You can't give up just because I'm gone, you lug head. What will everyone think? Hawkeye, Havoc, Fuery, Falman, Breda. Heck, what would _Edward_ think of you? You can't just _abandon_ them. Get up and get some help, Colonel."_

The next thing the Colonel was aware of was sunlight. His head pounded like an angry construction worker was operating a jackhammer in his skull. He squinted through the bright light and, just for a moment, Roy thought he saw the outline of Hughes standing above him. He sat bolt upright, tearing out a bit of the hair that was cemented to the tiles with his blood. With a groan, the Colonel brought his knees to his chest and hid his face in them.

His head _hurt_! A veil of darkness covered his vision when Roy tried to stand, so he crawled over to his alarm clock instead. It was well passed four in the afternoon. That was when he passed out once more.

When he was able to open his eyes again, it was dark out. Roy shielded his eyes against the glare of the alarm clock as he tried to read it through his headache. It was ten at night. With a moan of dread, Roy pulled himself off the ground and dragged his carcass into bed, where he fell into a fitful, restless sleep. He had found the will to keep living once more.


End file.
